


Faded to Blue

by Kate_Reid



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Across The Stars, Canon Compliant, Childhood Memories, F/M, Force Bond (Star Wars), Gen, Happy Ending, Introspection, Light Angst, Memories, Post-Canon, The Force, astral travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:29:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23102506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kate_Reid/pseuds/Kate_Reid
Summary: After becoming one with the Force, Ben journeys across the stars to confront his memories and find meaning.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 22
Kudos: 45
Collections: Reylo Charity Anthology: Volume 2





	Faded to Blue

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written for the Reylo Charity Anthology: Volume II. 
> 
> I am so proud to be part of this anthology for the second time, especially because this year, it raised nearly $20k for the Southern Poverty Law Center, RAICES, Regeneration International, and Save the Children. Thank you to all who donated. The generosity of this fandom continues to astound me.
> 
> Please enjoy this beautiful moodboard by WinglessOne: 

It isn’t a destination. Or really a _place_ , even.

It’s just where he is now. He finds that he already knows everything he needs to know to be here. 

Nobody comes along to train him; he doesn’t receive a thick handbook with a cover that glows uncannily. This isn’t one of those sweet comedy holos where a recently-departed soul learns the ropes of the hereafter.

No, this is Ben’s life now. Or his afterlife, to be more precise.

He doesn’t really have a _body_ now. He learns later that he can if he wants to, but really, if there was any sort of pathetic comedy to squeeze from his situation, it would unquestionably be drawn from his first few moments here.

Watching Rey look down at his empty clothes had been—something else. He saw her scream her wrath at the Force, then sob angrily for a bit, then snatch up his tunic and go on her way.

The entire experience might have been a touch more profound if Ben’s first instinct hadn’t caused him to grab frantically at himself as soon as he’d seen his unoccupied outfit lying there.

When he looks back on it, he has regrets. He’s willing to admit that they’re stupid ones—he’s sorry that he missed a moment where he could have comforted Rey rather than worrying desperately that he was naked someplace he shouldn’t be.

Really, his handling of that situation could have been better. But, other than that, his experience hasn’t been too jarring. Ben finds that quiet moments are much, much easier to bear—now there’s nothing harping constantly on the strings of his self-doubt, no voice berating him for his shortcomings. 

He simply exists. He doesn’t think too hard about it, because why should he?

Soon, he learns, a bit by accident, that he can be anywhere he wants. He is part of the Force, and the Force is, after all, everywhere. Once he’s aware of that, the sensations he’s still getting used to are shoved firmly to the back burner. Ben has places to be.

The first is one he’s been to before. This time, though, it’s markedly different. He isn’t hailed by the transponder in the midst of the asteroid field that had been Alderaan. When he’d arrived here before in his fighter, he’d been taken aback by the automated message whose smooth accent reminded him so much of his mother’s recordings of his grandparents. 

Now, there was no canned greeting, no Alderaanian folk songs, no awkwardly heartbroken recordings from living Alderaanians who’d been lucky enough to be off-planet the day their world ended.

Ben watches the ruined remnants of his mother’s home swirl silently—pieces of the planet still bound to an orbital path. He feels every bit—fragments of the mountain Leia had climbed proudly in her youth, crumbs of the waterfall in the painting that had hung in his parents’ living room since he could remember, tiny particles of the plants he’d only ever seen holos of, bits of the palace that had been the home of the Organa family.

Where Ben is now, time has no quantity attached, so he has no idea how long he spends in Alderaan’s orbit. He wants to feel everything he can while he’s there. 

So, maybe he should have been surprised when he suddenly begins to see the destruction of Alderaan over and over, through so many different eyes.

The Force is relentless; it shows him no mercy. Ben sees it again and again from every point of view—sometimes as an Imperial radar tech monitoring screens, sometimes as an Alderaanian gardener pulling weeds in the palace flowerbeds—but most often as a terrified young woman who isn’t helpless, but has fallen into the clutches of the worst of the worst, watching the huge explosion as her home is destroyed. 

Puzzlingly, each time he watches through his mother’s eyes, the perspective that follows is only slightly different—he sees it out the same viewport, but from the angle of a much taller being who stands behind her, looking over Leia’s head as the Death Star finds its target. 

Realization dawns. _Of course_ . It’s only natural that the Force gives him his mother’s memories—something about inherited midichlorians or whatever. But Leia Organa hadn’t been the _only_ blood relative of Ben’s to witness the death of Alderaan . . . 

After that, Ben has to spend a while in the neutral space that he’s come to think of as the “waiting room.” 

He’d known what happened. It wasn’t that he’d disbelieved his mother when she told him of her torture at the hands of Darth Vader, followed directly by the obliteration of her home. But now, he had time to _think,_ and his conclusions left him ashamed.

Ben’s bitter distrust of his parents had been seeded, then nourished by the voices that had resided in his head for most of his life. But, he found, even at his most deluded and hateful, he’d never _feared_ them, never worried that they would be mindlessly cruel to him, never suspected that they would stand by as something dear to him was callously destroyed.

Because time means nothing here, he has no idea how long he spends in the waiting room.

*******

Finally, he goes out again. This time is appreciably different. 

The Corellian system is just as alive as Alderaan hadn’t been. It thrums with the movements and intentions of many, many beings. The glittering towers of Coronet City loom over the capital’s bustling shipways and a surprising amount of green space. Ben remembered reading that the engineers who’d planned the city had felt that it was important to have parks throughout the urban area—it was too easy to live in a metropolis and forget what nature looked like.

It’s one of the parks just outside the city limits that draws Ben’s attention, though. The park’s sprawling grounds include a lake and a forest. Gently rolling hills provide gorgeous views in all directions. He’s never been here physically, but he’s seen holos and heard his father talk about it. This is where Han Solo would land if he ever returned to his homeworld. At the edge of the forest was a hollow that could easily hide a small craft.

Looking back on it, Ben wasn’t entirely sure that his mother had known of his father’s fantasy of returning home, just for a bit. Han hadn’t liked to talk too much about Corellia where Leia could hear; he was absolutely sure that his partner’s loss of her home trumped his and that he had no right to complain about missing a home that was still _there_.

It occurs to Ben that Corellia had been something his father had shared with him and him alone. Throughout his childhood, Han had given him little pieces of Corellian culture. Chief among these were several traditional songs with lyrics of dubious appropriateness for a small boy. 

One of those tunes is the first thing Ben hears as he shifts his presence from the park to Treasure Ship Row. The notes drift out the open door of a cantina whose patrons sing along heartily.

Treasure Ship Row had been a childhood fantasy to Ben, once he’d heard his father describe it—crowded and bright and loud and busy. Peddlers hawk all manner of wares, a blur of color and flavor on offer for the throngs that flow through. 

The marketplace is just a little seedy and rough around its vibrant edges—the places where the literal underground meets the surface. Ben wonders how many of the cheerful beings buying treats from vendors or haggling over clothing are aware of the network of tunnels below, where most of Coronet City’s dirty deeds get done.

Ben spends some time watching the crowds ebb and flow, listening to the music coming from the cantinas. Finally, he realizes that it’s time to get a move on when a small child looks directly into his eyes, then tugs at a parent’s sleeve to ask why the “big blue man” is transparent. 

He really needs to work on controlling his apparating. 

But for now, he just moves along to his next destination.

As a child, Ben had developed an obsessive interest in starships. He’d learned the specs of every single ship involved in the battles his parents had fought. Han had encouraged his hobby, always bringing home a model or two from his travels. 

Ben had also grown up on holos of the legendary Corellian Shipyards in orbit around Corellia. This is where he is now. The starships being built look absolutely massive from the ground. It isn’t long before the childlike wonder of Ben’s younger self takes over. 

Before his eyes, one of the docks shimmers and shifts. Suddenly, people in clothes long out of fashion mill about. In the bay is a YT-1300 light freighter. It could have been any one of many—the 1300 had been an extremely popular model. But Ben knows exactly _which_ YT-1300 he sees in the final stages of construction.

He’s suddenly drawn back to Kef Bir, waters swirling all around as he says the word “Dad” for the first time in forever. 

Ben’s Dad had never returned to Corellia, but Ben had.

*******

The experience so far has been a little surprising, but Ben feels silly when he thinks about what he’d expected. Maybe a busy spaceport, populated by the rushing souls of every being that had ever rejoined the Force?

He hasn’t seen anyone else since he’s been here, in the waiting room or anywhere else. At first, he thinks it’s a little strange, but then rationalizes—of course he’s alone here; the Force has infinite dimensions, doesn’t it? Maybe he’s been given his own.

Solitude has brought contentment rather than loneliness. Ben is alone in his own head, and it feels nice. His thoughts are his own. This clarity is new and precious.

Alderaan had been heartbreaking again, but this time, in a different way. He _felt_ nearly everything in each asteroid that sailed silently by. But he’d braced for that.

Corellia was bittersweet. Han had been a master of the tall tale, but everything Ben had seen there lived up to his father’s descriptions—exceeded them, even. Coronet City was exquisite; the park had been lush and gorgeous, and the sights, scents, and sounds of Treasure Ship Row were just as exciting as the stories that had captivated a much younger Ben.

No such excitement awaits at his next destination, as utterly necessary as it is. It’s probably best to get on with it—more time in the waiting room won’t help him any.

*******

The heat of the twin suns is unrelenting. He can’t feel it, but he _knows_. Before he came to this side of the Force, his dreams had been uncomfortably vivid and immersive, so much so that he’d always suspected that not all of them had been entirely his own.

Ben finds himself in front of a small group of domed structures, half filled with sand and long surrendered to the desert. There are scorch marks visible on the walls, just above where they’re buried.

Familiarity and recognition strike him like a blaster bolt. Echoes of a well-known Force signature reverberate from these abandoned walls.

But it’s . . . a little less complex, not as tightly woven or well-structured as the one he’d been so accustomed to.

No, this is Luke Skywalker young, raw, unformed, untrained. This is Luke Skywalker impatient, a little selfish, well before he’d pulled all of that damned maddening serenity over himself with that cloak of his. 

Ben nearly laughs out loud. In fact, he _does_ , as soon as he remembers there’s nobody to hear or see.

It’s humorous, yes, but his uncle’s frustrated potential rings true. Luke had wanted something more, but didn’t even know what _more_ was. His T-16 skyhopper had been his world, and he’d been obsessed with finding parts to improve it.

Ben’s subconscious had taken him through Beggar’s Canyon more than once, to the detriment of several dream womp rats. That had actually been quite interesting—his dream-self had been exhilarated, full of wonder at a skill that seemed uncanny. 

Now, he reaches back in his mind for a time that he’d been unaware of the Force’s role in his life. It’s buried deeper than he thought he could find, but the memory of the mobile over his crib breaks the surface of his thoughts. Its timer had ceased its gentle movements, but tiny Ben, not yet soothed to sleep, had wanted to see more. He’d simply _wanted_. 

And then, an idle thought in a drowsy baby’s brain had become reality as the mobile’s soft lights illuminated and its slow rotation began anew.

It’s telling that Ben’s first innocent inkling of his powers had been that long ago. The sudden burst of envy, though, is less predictable. He wonders what his life would have been like if he’d only come into his knowledge of the Force as an adult.

Luke had gotten to live his childhood and teenage years unaware of the destiny that flowed through his veins. Ben had borne the weight of his heritage as soon as he could walk and talk, even if he hadn’t had the full knowledge of his bloodline.

Ben’s envy of his Uncle Luke’s situation, though, floats away as easily as the grains of sand stirred by a soft desert breeze. They’re different, after all, and dealt with different things as they grew into their abilities. He wishes that his uncle had shared a little more of himself—it would definitely have made him more relatable.

Now, though, he understands why Luke might have wanted to keep himself distant and impenetrable. Luke was trying to reestablish an ancient order from ruins. Legitimacy was paramount, and an inscrutable sage of a Jedi Master went a long way toward that. Luke had played the mystic to the hilt, and now with a bit of space between them, Ben can see what his reasons might have been.

The bigger picture simply didn’t include a nephew who felt too much. 

The insight he’s gained has surprised him a bit. There’s no telling how long he’s been here, but there’s really no point in guessing. Ben calls it long enough to gain a little wisdom and empathy.

The empathy is another reason his feelings toward Luke have softened. What must it be like to battle your mortal enemy, only to find that you fought your own father? 

Ben had no idea how that might be—he’d known _exactly_ who Han Solo was. And then, he’d taken his father’s life.

Just then, a sound reaches him from hundreds of yards away. A procession of nomads makes its way over the dunes, breaking the horizon. Their voices are just barely audible, carried on the feeble breeze.

Suddenly, without warning, Ben’s entire being is suffused with rage. 

_Tusken Raiders._

A dark-haired woman, her kind face aged beyond its years by the harsh desert.

 _Torture_.

Her screams pierce the air; her blood soaks the sand.

They’ve _murdered_ her. They _must all die._

Ben comes back to himself, the desperate, all-consuming anger gone just as quickly as it had appeared. As the murderous intent ebbs, knowledge flows. 

This is his great-grandmother, Shmi. And the swirl of violence, vengeance, hatred, and swift fury belongs to his grandfather, Anakin Skywalker.

Up until now, Ben hasn’t felt any particularly strong emotions where he is. He’d figured that that was just one of the amenities that came with his stay.

But just now, Anakin’s anguish had reached across the Force, across the distance, and across the years to find him. Ben had never known anything of Shmi Skywalker beyond her name. She’d been a footnote to Luke’s story, the reason his uncle had wound up with the Lars family.

Anakin had been born a slave, rescued from bondage and taken away from his mother to become a Jedi Knight. 

And now, Ben knows that his grandfather had only come back home when he’d felt _this_ happening—his mother’s kidnapping and abuse at the hands of the Sand People. He’d arrived just in time for the last moments of her life.

This had to have been one of the first steps on Anakin’s path to darkness. Once more, Ben feels shame at the relative luxury of his own circumstances. 

Again, he doesn’t know how long it’s been. But he’s still here by the vacant Lars farm with new knowledge. Now, he knows more about the Skywalker branch of his heritage. What else is here for him?

Until right now, the Force has been fairly swift and clear about what he needs to see. This time, there’s much more ambiguity. Maybe it’s because Tatooine holds so many memories of both Luke and Anakin? Ben doesn’t know.

But he waits, with a patience that would have been entirely foreign to him during life. The sands shift around him and the ruins of his uncle’s childhood home for an immeasurable length of time. 

Then, suddenly, there is a deluge. Ben feels his mother, his uncle, and . . . _Rey_.

These new sensations of Luke and Leia are much more current—they lack the faded feel of the history he’d witnessed. And _Rey_ has just been here— _right here;_ he knows it.

She’s strong now, even stronger than she’d been when he’d last seen her and he’d made his great blunder, worrying more about his surprise nudity than about _Rey_.

Ben is happy for her—from the moment he’d met her, Rey’s potential had blown his mind. And it seems she’s now inhabiting it fully, right here on Tatooine, no less. All at once, he sees her _here,_ standing on the Lars farm, calling herself _Skywalker_. . . and burying his legacy.

*******

The familiar limbo of the waiting room is welcome. Even as Ben’s vision is clearer and more empathetic on this side, he still needs some time to work through what he’s seen. The new knowledge of Luke is revelatory. Leia and Han’s stories of their youthful escapades had always featured Luke in a main role, but Ben had known next to nothing about his uncle’s life before he’d fallen in with the Rebellion. Luke himself had been tight-lipped about his early life, almost as if he hadn’t actually existed until he met Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Ben was also glad to find out just a little more about Shmi. He’d seen flashes of her smiling at a small Anakin; he focused on those rather than the agony of her final moments. His great-grandmother had a quiet, gentle strength that reminded Ben of his mother. Shmi had needed her strength to persevere through life in slavery, especially after her son had come along. Every single source Kylo Ren had consulted—up to and including top-secret Imperial archives—said nothing of Shmi having a partner or a husband until she’d married Cliegg Lars.

Ben has no maternal great-grandfather. After he’d read what he had, he’d made a very firm decision to leave it at that. If pressed, he might say that a great enough concentration of midichlorians may be able to create life, but he’d call it a miracle of the Force and of nature. He steadfastly refuses to believe that any living being had a hand in it, even if he’s read many rumors that sent him down a Darth Plagueis lapinoid-burrow. None of those are confirmed, so he can ignore them. And especially with the knowledge he’s received recently . . . he must.

And . . . Rey. _Rey_ . Her confidence had been glorious; her self-possession had been beautiful; and her skill had been breathtaking. Ben had felt a pang when he realized that she’d held his heritage—the lightsabers of Anakin Skywalker’s twin children. Both should have been _his,_ but she’d sent them deep, deep into the sand below the Lars homestead.

 _Why?_ he had wondered. _For what?_ he’d wanted to ask. Was it so poisonous that it had to be hidden, needed to be concealed, must be put out of reach? Had the Skywalker legacy so shaken the stars, so gored the galaxy, so injured the universe that it was better forgotten?

Maybe it had. Ben has plenty of time in the waiting room to do plenty of math. The numbers aren’t great. Even if he counts only the test firings of the Death Star and the destruction of Alderaan, and not the murders of younglings or the brutalization of planets like Riosa, Darth Vader’s body count is terrifyingly high. 

But so is Kylo Ren’s.

Ben sees no point in trying to distance himself from the destruction of the Hosnian system. He could have stopped it. His choice to brood on the bridge of the _Finalizer_ only put an artificial degree of space between him and the carnage. His passivity was complicity. 

The Skywalker blood might be a scourge on the galaxy. For all intents and purposes, though, it no longer exists as an active source of harm. Four generations have made their indelible imprint, but now . . . no more.

For some reason, Rey of Jakku has taken up the cursed name and laid its extant remnants to rest. 

There are several sides to every story, though, aren’t there?

*******

Rey’s voice floats to Ben from somewhere; it’s hushed with wonder and full of awe. Until she’d seen Takodana, she didn’t know there was this much green in the whole galaxy.

There’s so much green _here,_ too, and there’s blue, and there’s nearly every color of flower, and he aches for the desire to show her. Rey _should_ see this, should be here.

Ben thinks that if Rey could have seen the retreat at Varykino, she never would have buried the Skywalker birthright in the sand of Tatooine.

Varykino is still here, and it’s still gorgeous. The gardens are still vast and colorful; the lake still sparkles in the sun, the villa’s peaks still rise high and beautiful.

Memories of Ben’s grandparents echo throughout the grounds of the estate and the rooms of the villa. Outside on the grand patio, he’s so awkward and eager to impress; she finds him endearing, even as he complains about sand. 

Indoors at dinner, Anakin’s still awkward, trying to awe Padmé with stories of “aggressive Jedi negotiations,” attempting to dazzle her with floating slices of fruit.

And she’s also brought him to her home on Naboo and introduced him to her family. He’s broken bread with them. He’s told her family of the danger she may be in. The peril is real, but his description might be a little self-serving.

After dark, he’s insistent, but she’s rational. He’s persuasive, and she’s logical. Somehow, though, each comes around to the other’s way of thinking.

The rest, Ben thinks, cloaked in the cynicism of distance and inevitability, is history. Mercifully, the scene fades before he’s forced to confront his origins _too_ directly.

Padmé is lovely, smart, and strong-willed. Again, as with Shmi, it’s easy to see Leia in his grandmother—warm brown eyes that hold both compassion and intelligence, beauty that softens the edges of stubbornness.

*******

And then, there is heat. There is fire. There is lava cascading all around. _Mustafar_.

A rush of rage fills Ben. It feels the same as it had on Tatooine. It blurs his vision.

_Can’t they see? Don’t they know? He’s fixed it all. His wife will be protected, shielded from Shmi’s fate. Their child will be safe. The galaxy will be peaceful. They will rule together; they will have all they want in his new empire._

Anger rises. Padmé falls. He fights his master.

*******

At some point, Anakin’s memories give way to his own, and he is again on Mustafar, now in the midst of an irontree forest, alone at the center of a circle of fallen bodies.

The vision of his recent past is strange, especially because it comes with a rush of emotions that are no longer his.

But they _were_ his, and one thing he’s learned here in the Force is that his actions are his own and always will be. Even if his deeds were spurred by thoughts or influence that he’s since rejected, what he’s _done_ in service to those things is indelible. 

*******

He’s in the waiting room again, and he can’t bear it. Finally, the weight of it all has hit him like a runaway hypertrain. Ben is alone with his thoughts and hates the company.

Darth Vader— _Anakin_ —had given in to something that caused him to abandon and even harm those he loved.

He, Ben, had been influenced and persuaded to abandon and even harm those he loved. 

And all for lies, in both cases. His grandfather, Anakin Skywalker, had been isolated, made to feel alone in the galaxy. With his mother gone, that would have been easy. The loss would have torn a gaping hole in his spirit that made it hard to see what was left—a wife who loved him beyond reason and a master who loved him as a brother. Anakin had probably been quite easy to manipulate.

But Ben had been, too. As a small, lonely, awkward boy whose parents were too busy to spend much time with him, when he heard a voice that was always with him and never deserted him, it wasn’t difficult to become attached. A constant companion was easy to believe, made it harder to accept affection from any other source. Deep trenches of doubt dug ruts in his trust and distanced him from his family.

He’d fallen for it completely. And he’d even bought into the Darth Vader legend he’d been sold, spent hours in meditation brooding over the legacy he was failing. How long had he spent talking to the grotesquely melted helmet that never answered?

The legend had been a lie; chasing the legacy was a lost cause. Anakin Skywalker had been a frightened, angry boy, terrified of losing what little he had and goaded into galactic genocide. 

Ben _was_ like his grandfather—so much like him, but in none of the ways he’d ever thought.

*******

Ben isn’t even sure he _can_ groan these days, but the sensation is there anyway.

Desert heat, sand all around—he’d thought he was _done_ with Tatooine?

But there’s only one sun, so this isn’t Tatooine. All around, amidst the endless dunes, are wrecked Imperial crafts.

One in particular calls to him, and he approaches it. It’s a fallen AT-AT, its feet useless in the air, hull ravaged by years of heat and sandstorms.

Inside are a few remnants of a life snatched from the harsh elements outside—some dishes, a small rag doll, several odds and ends hoarded like treasure. Tally marks cover the walls, thousands of them scratched into the metal. He stops in the midst of trying to count them; his eye’s been caught by something else. 

In a little container that began its life as part of an Imperial Star Destroyer is a tiny plant, quite dry, but still clinging to life. 

Ben doesn’t know why, but he reaches toward it, concentrating on the small bit of green down near the roots. Immediately, the green spreads, new shoots erupt, and the plant climbs up a nearby pillar, flowers blooming as it grows before his eyes.

Suddenly, he feels a shifting; a shimmer drops over his vision. He hadn’t expected to feel it here, but this is a familiar sensation, so he isn’t surprised by what he sees when he looks up.

Rey stands a few feet away from him; her eyes shine with tears and dart back and forth between Ben and the newly thriving plant. 

Ben raises his eyes to look helplessly at her. He doesn’t know what to tell her. He has everything to say, but he’s not sure any of it makes sense. He knows so much more, but he’s not sure that any of it will make any difference, or that it can, or that it _should_.

Rey smiles at him, shaking her head at his foolishness. 

“I know,” she says as she walks determinedly toward him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you once again to everyone who donated!
> 
> Thank you also to Flawless_Sorcerer_Supreme, situation_normal, and WinglessOne. Your support means the world.
> 
> Thank you (again) to Glenn Frey.
> 
> There are echoes here of my other canon works--if you're interested, please check them out!
> 
> [Come say hi!](https://linktr.ee/stainlessstyled)


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